


That Which Parts Us

by Prince_Of_The_Night



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Canon Divergence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, De-Aged Characters, FACE Family, Gen, Hogwarts Third Year, Humane Names, Mild Angst, Mild Language, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2018-12-29 17:44:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12090132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prince_Of_The_Night/pseuds/Prince_Of_The_Night
Summary: At the behest of one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Arthur Kirkland and his sons - occasionally known as England, America, and Canada - set out to Hogwarts to teach and learn. The young-again twins follow after Arthur, all in the hopes of saving Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. With new power and friends, can Matthew, Alfred, and the Golden Trio team up to save Sirius Black, who might just not be the serial killer everyone thought him to be?





	1. I. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fear Does Not Define Us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11720133) by [RowenaMatthewJones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowenaMatthewJones/pseuds/RowenaMatthewJones). 



> This was an idea that I found from the end of last year and decided to rework and publish, please tell me what you think and if I should continue. Also, to everyone who reads my Voltron fic: I'm not abandoning it, I'm just having a problem with writer's block and school is getting in the way, so this is a procrastination effort on the school part and should help me un-stick my writer's block. Thank you and please enjoy. 
> 
> [[Also, please not that this first chapter is dedicated to RowenaMatthewJones, whose story was the final push of inspiration and motivation I needed to post this.]]

Across gently rolling foothills - not far, but not to close to Hogwarts - a large house sits atop a hill. To the muggles who had heard of it - and most certainly had - it was the home of a well-known and very important government official, Arthur Kirkland. On the other hand, the Wizarding world knew him as Arthur Kirkland, heir to the Kirkland name and an important Ministry official. The Kirklands were a rich, and old, pureblood family. The current head of the family (the aforementioned Arthur Kirkland himself) was rarely seen, except for when he would turn up in the Ministry. They knew he had a high position in the Ministry of Magic (how could he not?), but the Wizarding community, as a whole, was at a loss for who he might have been, or what he did.

And, thus, the house on the hill remained untouched and undisturbed by those not invited to the picturesque. Of course, there were strong wards - certainly, you couldn’t take Arthur as a fool. From the outside, the building looked extravagant and expensive - if not a little dated. But the interior was simplistic and calm, a crystal reflection of the man who ran the estate.

Yet despite it’s size, surely enough the only inhabitant - on most days - was one Mr. Arthur Kirkland himself (he often felt pride in that name meant “noble land”), and as of recent, the large home also entertained a guest.

As such, said man (an expert in all things magical, he’d proudly say) and said guest (a man who knew his way around people and the social world better than any - and certainly more so than a particular bushy-browed, green- eyed blonde) sat in the back garden (one of Arthur’s proud achievements; he was rather fond of the myrtles), relaxing in the unusual warmth of the late British Summer - a staggering 24* degrees Celsius. Both held a cup of tea in their hands; a cup of earl grey for Arthur and a cup of Paris tea** for the other blonde man, whose hair was longer and eyebrows determinedly less bushy. Arthur Kirland (honestly, who decided to introduce this man so many times, or at least say his full name so many times?) looked towards his guest, Francis Bonnefoy, a high-ranking government official from France (who would have guessed?), before sighing, “I feel rather guilty for making them do this. They’re only children, the poor loves.”

“Non,” Francis began, his accent rich***, but not too thick to call indiscernible or difficult to understand. “You did not make zem do anything. Zey simply wish to ‘elp you, _Angleterre_. Let zem. You must not always be so stubborn; you must let people ‘elp you sometimes, no?” The elision he unintentionally placed in words starting an “H” softened his words considerably, and often times relaxed the Brit -  as much as he’d loathe to say it.

“But I’ve done nothing for them in so long, and yet they do me such a large favor as this.” The Englishman shook his head and sipped his mint-tinged tea, a show of exasperation and fondness for the two children he called sons, as well as an expression of Arthur’s confusion for the two’s compassion towards their elder.

The Frenchman keeping him company laughed, a gentle sound similar to the tinkling of bells during the Christmas holidays. “Did nozing?” He too shook his head, continuing,  “You raised zem, _Angleterre_. Zat is certainly somezing, non?”

“You raised them, too,” Arthur pointed out, huffing slightly. Carefully, he set down his teacup and crossed his arms across his chest. Yes, he would be there with the - _his_ \- boys, but it still felt somewhat off.

“But not as much as you, Mon Cher,” Francis spoke warmly. He reached across to gently unfold Arthur’s crossed arms and softly hold his hand. A kind smile spread over the foreigner's face, and the worried lines in Arthur’s face lessened and smoothed out.

With a soft puff of air, Arthur shook his head again. “Come on now,” he said as he pulled himself up and out of his chair. Carefully taking his cup in one hand, he extended the other towards Francis. “The twins will be here shortly, and this spell takes quite a lot of preparation. A tricky one, it is. I do believe I might need you help.”

They stood to leave, Francis offering his arm to Arthur, who took it willingly enough. “And Francis? You’re just as much as a father to them as I am,” the bushy-browed man said with warmth as they exited the garden. The sweet smell of magenta zinnias**** following them out. They both headed towards the house, not looking back at the delicately painted teacups, still gleaming and letting of slow steam in the gentle sunlight.

“Voldemort is a rather funny name, is it not? Flight of death,” Francis’ musing was left to hang in the air as the two walked through the back door, taking their chatter with them.

Yes, the two anthropomorphic countries really were an odd pair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * _“.. a staggering 24 degrees celsius..”_ So, I actually did the research and the average temperature in Britain during August is 18 degrees C (64.4 degrees F) and is the highest all year, I believe. So I decided 24 degrees C would be alright as it is about 75.2 degrees F. As I live in the States and 75 degrees F is rather cool during the end of summer (September), I decided this might work. If anyone is from the area, please let me know if there are inaccuracies.
> 
> ** _“..a cup of Paris tea..”_ From what I found, Paris tea is a fruity black tea with vanilla and caramel flavors, and a hint of lemony Bergamot.
> 
> *** I looked it up, on how to write or try to convey a French accent through English while trying not to sound offensive. However, this is based from what I found, as well as the accent we see in the actual show (it’s been awhile since I watched it, so I might not be completely right. Sorry).
> 
> **** _“..sweet smell of magenta zinnias following them..”_ I wanted to have this have a meaning so I went and looked up the flower language (you can find the site I used here). This was also mentioned earlier too; here is what the two I (purposefully) used meant: Myrtle- love; and Magenta zinnia- lasting affection.
> 
> I really hoped you all liked this and I can’t wait to continue this if you want and like this. Please give me some feedback as that would be very helpful.


	2. Chapter One: Empty Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize to any and everyone who was waiting for this. The prologue of this story was written at the end of the 2016-2017 (American) school year and it was a complete impulse - both to write it and to post it. I finally got around to continuing this, over a year later, and I must say I'm excited to write this. I hope this manages to be enjoyable to you all. However, there are a few notes I'd like to make. First, while I'm trying to make this as original as I can, I may fall into the same cliche pitfalls as other people and I'd like to apologize for that. Secondly, Alfred was sorted for plot reasons mainly, but I actually put a bit of thought into Matthew. His house will be an important part of this story. Third, Draco Malfoy is also going to be playing a large part in this story, specifically as an ally to a major character. Finally, updates will likely have no schedule and won't be very quickly coming. I'm currently a high school student who is working towards their driver's license, learning to speak a second language, part of the drama club (and the head makeup person for this upcoming play and more!) and a part of a club that does volunteering and concessions work for the school, as well as starting to get ready to look into college and the start of my medical career. Since I'm so busy, I don't know how often I'll be able to post chapters. Thank you for reading my ramble, I hope you enjoy this story.

** -o-o- **

**“** _Dark as midnight sun  
__Smoke as black as charcoal  
__Fills into our fragile lungs  
__'Cause when our demons come  
__Dancing in the shadows  
__To a game that can't be won_ ”

**‘Empty Gold’**  
**\- Halsey**

** -o-o- **

The day began in a flurry of tired 13 year-olds and cinnamon-sugar toast. Alfred and Matthew, who had crawled into bed almost as soon as the spell was done, where caught up in a tangled mess of too-large night clothes. Groggy and slightly disoriented at being back in their 13 year-old bodies once again, the two slowly dragged themselves out of bed and down the stairs when Francis called them down to eat.

When the two finally made it to the table in the dining room, Matthew clutching the back of Alfred’s oversized night shirt, they slid into their places, the countries who had raised them already sitting. Each had a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and cinnamon-sugar toast - the twins favorite- and, of course, Arthur’s peppermint tea. Tea was honestly the only edible thing that the green-eyed man could make, and the peppermint tea had always been the twins favorite; nothing could top it. _Nothing._

Breakfast passed in companionable quiet, as the two children were too tired to talk, Arthur was reading the newspaper, and Francis seemed to be quite happy just simply keep humming a song under his breath. Once everyone had finished and the twins were fully awake, the blonde Frenchman spoke. “Matthieu, _mon cher_ , you and Alfred should go get dressed, no? After all, you do have a big day ahead of you,” he said, smiling. The expression only turned wider as the two grinned Cheshire grins at each other, now full of energy and excitement for the departure to Hogwarts - which was only a couple hours from then.

With the kind of fierce excitement only children could gather, they dashed up the stairs. A quiet thud, followed by Matthew’s half-worried, half-amused shout of “Alfred, be careful!” chased back down the stairs and left the Arthur chuckling.

Francis clicked his tongue cheerfully, and lightly swatted the back of Arthur’s head. “Come along, old man,” he teased, “You have your own job to take care of.” The fond puff of comfortable amusement softened the air and he stood.

“Dear lord, do I know.”

** -o-o- **

**_“— On time, or you shall be annihilated.”_ **

_The soft_ **_tick-tick_ ** _of the pocket watch against his chest as he hunches down in the trench felt alarmingly loud, as if someone would hear it and find them._ **_Wait, wait_ ** _, he reminds himself as Byng’s voice circles like vultures in his ears. The sun will rise soon, but it has not yet creeped up to peer over the horizon. For that, he is both relieved and anxious. He pulls out the watch and stares for exactly 10 seconds as the hand lurches to the side._

_Stowing it back away, he starts the countdown._ **_22, 21, 20, 19…_ ** _Even though he can hear Claude murmur the last few seconds till doom, it still fills him with the inexplicable calm that washes over him. The mist in the air clings to his jacket, and he has to remind himself that he will see his brother soon again. Still, that calm and comfortable feeling is there, thrumming in his bones._

_It is, he knows, the childish comfort of war and brutal tactics._

_The sun peaks over the horizon, ever so slightly, the watch in his pocket struck 5:30 - even if he isn’t looking - and they, all the reckless boys who will either die or win, rush forward and over the lip of the trench. They aren’t expected, and it clearly throws the Germans off. Guns blaze and the air strikes with gunpowder and dust._

_He manages to clip the shoulder of a young boy - too young for war like this, he’s better suited to the medical tents. Better yet, he should be home with his mother, not here._ **_For Dad_ ** _, he thinks as he aims a shot into someone’s clavicle._ **_For Dad_ ** _, and he watches a bullet land between eyes._ **_For Dad_ ** _, and a dark-eyed man goes down._ **_For Dad, For Dad, For Dad, For Dad._ ** _He fights back hard and brutal and terrifying. He will not fail._

_He refuses to never see his family again._

** -o-o- **

Matthew woke up, slow and serene, on a train. On the train. His brother’s voice was the first of many he registered, soft enough not to wake him while he chattered on. The other two voices were not so considerate -- loud, unending, and stumbling over syllables here and there. Matthew groaned softly, the sound bubbling up from the back of his throat, and he heard Alfred laugh.

“Ah, you guys woke Mattie up!” Matthew pressed his cheek further into the safety of Alfred’s collar instead of confirming his brother’s words.

“I told you,” a fourth, unfamiliar voice said. Not that the other two were familiar, but Alfred was a good judge of character. It was a girl, Matthew thought, debating whether or not to peel open his eyes. “You need to be quieter. And now look, you’ve woken him up!”

Muttering curses in French, Matthew sighed and sat up, running a hand through his hair to jostle it back into place. “So loud,” he muttered, his accent nearly as thick as it used to be back when he was still with Papa. He wasn’t really a morning person, not like Alfred was. Alfred’s arm was still comfortably solid around his shoulder and he took a moment to take in the other occupants of the booth.

The three his brother had been talking with where his age -- his body age? Human age? -- two boys and a girl on the far left. The girl was pretty enough, with curly, frizzy hair barely held back by a headband and kind eyes that lit up with curiosity. On the right was a red-haired boy who blinked at him unabashedly, like he was expecting them to say something. The other boy, the one in-between the two, had the same look. Matthew wasn’t sure why, he wasn’t anything special, just black hair and green eyes tucked behind a pair of round glasses.

The boys stared at Matthew for a moment longer before he sighed. “Are you going to introduce yourselves or not?” he asked, turning to glance at the last person in the train car. The man was older, likely a teacher, with a scar running down his face. He slept peacefully against the window, the noise of the other teens not bothering him.

“You mean you don’t recognize him?” The redhead burst out, jumping forward. Matthew winced and pushed back into Alfred more.

“Obviously not.” He wrinkled his nose. He was being vindictive, he knew, but he wasn’t in the best mood after a dream like that.

The boy just kept staring, so the girl leaned forward with a sigh. “I’m so sorry,” she said, “about these two. No manners, I swear. My name is Hermione Granger, the redhead is Ronald Weasley, and this is Harry. Potter. Harry Potter, I mean. It’s wonderful to meet you. Alfred said you two are transfers?”

Matthew smiled, relaxing back slightly at finally getting some answers. Not understanding the situation always put him on edge. Alfred too. “Yes, we only recently moved back to England.” The name rolled off his tongue, tilting and sliding as it went, and it made him think of his father - both of them - fondly. My name is Matthew, it is my pleasure to meet you.”

“Aw, don’t go flirting, Mattie,” Alfred said, grin in place. Hermione flushed and Matthew rolled his eyes.

“Alfred. We’re thirteen, who would be flirting?”

“Well - actually that’s a good point. I mean, I’m pretty sure the only thing you’re really into is hiding away and reading anyways.” Alfred’s teasing was familiar but it also made him a little homesick. They weren’t even at Hogwarts yet. No, it was something more, something sadder and darker, than that; he figured it was the dream.

The cold, dark feeling dug into his chest. “Only sometimes,” he hummed. Would he be forgotten again soon? At least he would have Alfred. Right? Alfred had always had his back, had always been there. He wouldn’t leave him, would he? Vaguely, he noticed the frost crawling across the windows, the tensing in the other students and their tight expressions. He could tell that Alfred was feeling that pervasive darkness in his chest too, a near impossible understanding and empathy that shifted between them effortlessly. His brother was his closest ally, someone he couldn’t think of fighting with, not seriously.

Except—

— _Matthew watches the men, both British soldiers and Colonial Militia, march away, weary from the fighting. Marquis de Montcalm sighs. “_ **_It will be unhonorable_ ** _,” he says in French._

_“_ **_That’s fine_ ** _,” Kajika* says, in French as well. It turns his stomach to catch sight of Akecheta’s* blue eyes bounding away with the white men. His brother hadn’t had a choice, neither of them had. They look young, but the years of fields and game and tribes without interruption still lingered and many tribes on his land  - on his brother’s land, on_ **_their_ ** _land - spoke well and often of them._

_“_ **_We fight for our white fathers,_ ** _” another warrior says to Montcalm, “_ **_but we fight for the Red Men as well._ ** _”_

_Kajika stands back, and says, “_ **_Now._ ** _” The men, his people, rush out with eerie calls and cheering. Kajika closes his eyes, but it cannot stop stop him from hearing Montcalm whisper, “_ **_Guerrilla warfare_ ** _,” under his breath. Yes, unhonorable indeed._ —

There was a flash of white light and he was gone.

When Matthew woke up the second time, it was with much less grace. The sleeping professor was awake and leaning over him, hand outstretched to hold something out. Matthew hissed and pushed himself back on unsteady arms. He knew he wasn’t in any danger, but the feeling was still there, the adrenaline still pulsing in his temples. The professor seemed confused and a little worried at that, but careful hands carded through Matthew’s hair, leaving him relaxing in the familiar touch. Alfred murmured words that were neither French or English. They tasted like home on his brother’s tongue, Matthew knew.

He was still awake, but caught on the edge of awareness. “Go get Professor Kirkland,” he heard Alfred say, “He’ll know what to do.” The _tap-tap-tap_ of shoes leaving filtered through the haze and Matthew became acutely aware of 3 pairs of eyes on him.

“What’s up with him?” one of the boys asked. Ronald, Matthew thought.

“Ron! You can’t say that! Something like dementors would have that effect on a lot of people. Just look at what happened to Harry.” Hermione. Feet came _tap-tap-tapping_ back again, two this time. A voice he didn’t know encouraged the three - no four, he was talking to Alfred, too - to eat chocolate he offered.

“Matthew. Can you look at me, poppet?” Arthur? That was - that was his Dad talking. Matthew peeled his eyes open, only then becoming aware he had closed them. “There we are, just like that,” Arthur said, smoothing down his hair. He smiled, a tight-lipped, sad smile. He helped Matthew stand and let him lean into Arthur’s shoulder, Alfred gripping his hand tightly.

“Professor, is he going to be okay?” Oh, that was Hermione again, Matthew realized.

“Yes, yes,” Arthur said, “He’ll be just fine by the time the feast comes around. You should get ready though, Miss Granger, we’ll be at Hogwarts soon as it is. I’ll keep an eye on Matthew for now.” And with that, Arthur turned and lead the twins away, towards the professors’ carriage. He pushed a fractured piece of chocolate into both Matthew’s and Alfred’s hand. “Eat, you’ll feel better soon. Just sit with me for now.”

Arthur pushed open the door to the carriage, catching the attention of several of the other professors. A strict-looking woman hurried over. “Arthur, what are these children in here for?” she asked, “They aren’t supposed to be in here unless they’re in trouble.” Her disapproving frown didn’t ruffle Arthur though, and it didn’t stop him from sliding into the cushioned seat and pull his children along too.

“Forgive me, Minerva, but it’s only because of the dementors.” The woman - Minerva’s frown deepened.

“What do you mean?” Arthur momentarily ignored her to glance sternly at Matthew. “Come on, poppet,” he said, “Just eat the chocolate and rest.”

“Yes, Dad,” Matthew murmured too softly for anyone but his father to hear, curling up with his head in Arthur’s lap and Alfred’s hand clenched in his. He faded away before he heard Arthur finally reply to Minerva.

** -o-o- **

Minerva Mcgonagall was not amused. Not only had the new professor, Arthur Kirkland, brought in students when he shouldn’t have, but now he allowed them to curl up against him and sleep. Her gaze was disapproving when he started to talk.

“It’s the dementors,” Arthur parroted his earlier statement back to her. “It drudged up some bad memories for him. The poor boy was barely even himself.” Arthur sounded sad and shook his head. Minerva softened enough and she sat across from him. She rose an eyebrow and gestured her hand to where the boys were huddled against him.

Arthur smiled at her. He said, “My boys, twins; Matthew and Alfred. I was only just able to enroll them this year. I know it’s not rare, but transfers aren’t common either.”

“You care for them much,” Minerva noted.

“Yes.” It was a simple answer and Arthur said it as he threaded a hand through Matthew’s hair. “I only wish I spent less time arguing when they were younger and more time being a better father.” Minerva hummed. She had never had children of her own, but in all her years of teaching she certainly understood the feeling.

“Alright then.” She let it be for the rest of the train ride, continuing to plan her first classes.

** -o-o- **

Alfred walked down the wide hallway with the soft, precise steps of a soldier. Unlike his older brother, he hadn’t slept off the unease. It trickled down his veins, left him far, far too away of every movement, every breath. It left only the room for a single, burning goal: _protect Matthew_. Oh, he knew his brother could protect himself, was strong and sure, but it didn’t stop the raving protectiveness that fostered in his bones, pulsing through his marrow. It left a nasty taste in his mouth, like gunpowder and blood and ash.

The air grated across his skin, coarse and thick with magic, as Dad lead them further and further into the building. After leaving the train, he had fully expected to pile into the carriages that trekked upwards, only to be pulled aside by his father.

“It’ll be easier to get you sorted this way,” Arthur had said. In the span of a moment, less than the blink of an eye, unimaginably infinitesimal, the had appeared in the broad hall and marched their way to a round staircase, which they climbed now.

A hand slipped into his, shaking him out of his thoughts. Alfred turned and smiled at Matthew, who tightened his grip slightly. Matthew had come around when they left, fully there and back to his calm smiles. “We’re okay,” he said to Alfred. It was what he needed to hear. Matthew’s carefully kind words gracefully slid down his spine and reverberated through every never, calming the _step-step-stutter_ of his mind.

They had called it shell shock, all those years ago. Back when laughing boys told life-saving lies, women worked because it was all they knew, and when words for things light post-traumatic stress disorder didn’t exist. They do now, but back when the world was torn he couldn’t even find it in himself to tell Dad he loved him. Not— not when he carefully picked up the pieces of green eyes and tea and bedtime stories. They had called it shell shock, all those years ago, but they call it PTSD now. And the shuddering, cold darkness that lanced through his chest barely hours ago brought back that feeling of war and death.

“You don’t have to worry,” Matthew whispered into his shoulder as they stopped at a wide door. It was the final piece, the last missing code, that slides into place and — neither slowly or quickly — Alfred came back. He blinked and grinned at his brother.

“Of course I worry!” he said, “I’ll always worry about you! I gotta be the hero, don’t I?”

Matthew smiled back and opened his mouth to speak before Arthur interrupted them. “Come along, you two,” he said, exasperated, “we only have so long.”

The door had swung open to present a man, old and grey and too smiling-with-twinkling-eyes. Does Alfred like that gleam in his eye? No, he does not and there’s nothing he can do about it. At least Arthur looked as slightly annoyed as he felt.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Arthur said, “it’s wonderful to see you again. I’m honored to be working here with you.” The subtle, centuries-perfected spite flew right past Dumbledore’s nose and it left Alfred wanting to laugh loud and clear. He didn’t because it wouldn’t be appropriate.

“I must say the same to you, Professor Kirkland. Now then, I believe we’re here to sort your sons?” Arthur had given them the run down on the walk. They would be privately sorted before joining their new housemates for the feast. “Well, let’s do this as quickly as we can, shall we?” Dumbledore asked, eyes kind and shining, as he carefully set the Sorting Hat on Alfred’s head.

_Back again, are we?_ the Hat said, amused and warm. It reminded Alfred of the first time he and Matthew had attended Hogwarts, back when they were still colonies and the air between him and Arthur wasn’t so stifled. _Well, with what you need to do here, I doubt we really need to give it much thought. Oh, don’t pout, I’ll give your brother more attention._ It would have to do, Alfred thought. _Better be_ — “Gryffindor!”

Alfred watched as the Hat was settled onto his brother’s head and sighed. He really would have loved to be back in Ravenclaw, but maybe Matthew would have for hope. “Slytherin!” the Hat said, just as jovial as before, though it thankfully didn’t shout like it did with the first years. Matthew smiled, preening under Arthur’s approving eyes, and let himself be hurried down to the Great Hall for the feast.

“It’s gonna be a great year,” Alfred promised his twin.

** -o-o- **

“ _There is something to be said about blood purity these days. It’s unnecessary. Purebloods keep to themselves, in most cases, and derision is too often a problem. Growing up, my best friends were a Pureblood whose family name is well-known and a muggleborn Spaniard with too much a passion for gleefully fighting and the ocean. My father had blood purist words carved into his headstone. I can hope I do better for my own sons— who are, like all other children, the future of our world. [Isn’t there something more we could learn? Must read more to understand further.]_ ”

— From **“Blue Fields, Frozen Stars, and Other, Impossible Things: The Autobiography of French Wizard”** by Francis Bonnefoy and annotated by Draco Malfoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, yes. I did make Matthew a Slytherin. Part of it was actual thought and research put into it, and a part may or may not have been my need house rep, because JKR while amazing, also totally has a bias towards favoring Gryffindors and I'm a little upset, haha.  
> Secondly:  
> *Native American names I’m using for Matthew and Alfred. Matthew: Kajika; Alfred: Akecheta.


End file.
